Content
by NauruAyumi
Summary: OneShot AriKure, taking place at the inn where Tohru and Kyo's wedding has elapsed. He loves how practical and impractical she can be... Something's in the Air. Part 2 of Contagious Concepts. R&R! M to be safe, post-curse.


Part two of Contagious Concepts- A concept for my each of my favorite Furuba pairings. They take place after the reception of Tohru and Kyo's wedding (they're 22, it took him awhile to get the guts to ask her...). Its a moonlit night and there is something contagious in the air.

I'll be posting them as separate one-shots, because the ratings will change between them.

If you enjoy this one, please read my Kakeru x Komaki fic called 'Conference'.

Disclaimer- Furuba isn't mine.

R&R! I'd love to know what you think. Tell me which fic/pairing I should post/write next! No flames please, flames hurt. But kind criticism is appreciated.

--

He loved how practical she could be and how impractical she could be at the same time, he thought to himself as he paced her room at the inn where Tohru and the cat's wedding had just taken place. He gathered up a few scattered articles of clothing, wanting to be tidy. He liked things to be neat, though if he thought it would offend, he would not press for it in others. Their personal habits were their business and he should not concern himself with them. Arisa, on the other hand, had not grown up clean in any way, though she did enjoy a hot bath, and in her frenzied searches for something appropriate to wear a room could develop a nasty case of 'everything everywhere' syndrome.

He sighed, and blushed as he found one of his t-shirts among her dirty laundry. He couldn't be sure whom it smelled of more; him or her, but its musk was familiar and provocative. He'd seen her wearing this shirt recently. The moon hadn't been full then, a few days before, and now its pale light sent shivers through him. There was something about it that warmed him like kicking back a pint or two with friends. He felt loose.

She wore practical underwear for most situations, something comfortable that looked natural and good under her clothing if she was going out of the house, but even more practically, she would neglect some of the more restrictive garments if she found they were unnecessary. It made for less laundry and easier movement throughout the day, but as practical as white and nude cotton were, she did have a few nonsensical tendencies.

Nights when she was feeling good and warm and happy, or perhaps cold and angry and in need of heating and cheering up, she would walk into the small room that served as both a home office for him and a bedroom with connected shower and bath for both of them (they hadn't needed both an office and a bedroom, she'd said, they would only sleep there at night anyhow), and shuffle past him while humming quietly to herself. He would glance at her through the blue glow of the computer screen, curious, but she never looked at him. Passing to the small dresser that was hers (they shared the closet; he had fewer clothes), she would rifle through her underwear drawer, pull out something, and go into the tiled room for a shower. He could hear her hum, often some folksong or children's song, through the rush of the faucets. She raised her voice to make sure he heard.

He took her hint and finished his work hastily; it wouldn't do to make her wait when she was giving him a head start. He knew he had seven minutes exactly, and he wondered how she timed herself so perfectly; it must have been instinct because she wasn't the type to keep track. He would pick up the room, starting in the corners and working up closer to their bed, packing their laundry into a hamper graciously given to them as a housewarming gift by some delinquent girls- friends of Arisa's. They had confused him for quite awhile, calling her 'ane-san', 'ane-san'. He hadn't wanted to offend them by asking if they really were her sisters.

He had his socks off and the cuff buttons of his shirt undone by the time she turned the faucets off with a dull 'clunk'. He smiled, remembering the night he figured out what a mood-killer sweat socks could be. He heard her giggle softly, a sound that he loved for its rarity and sweetness, and he knew she was glancing at herself in the mirror. She could be such a tough talker and didn't laugh for the sake of joy enough. The sound piqued his curiosity.

He never knew what to do with himself in the last few moments before she opened the door, entering in a cloud of sweet steam. He paced rather nervously, not sure if he should sit on the bed or on the chair or pretend to be busy.

It never really mattered, because when she finally showed herself, he couldn't think of anything else. She'd changed into something interesting, colorful, lacy, satiny, silky. Completely impractical. It wouldn't look good under any of her favorite clothes and would be no good for the physical work she did in the day as they tried to open a café of their own. Honestly, he didn't care if she was wearing something comfortable, white cotton-blend or something scratchy with lace, red and without enough support; they never stayed on for very long regardless.

They both knew it wasn't the lingerie that made him want her so much, but it made her feel more confident in her body and it reminded him that he was here because he wanted to be with her and wanted to make her feel good.

He loved the way she smiled when he pulled her close; he loved the way he never felt like he had to be invited. The invitation was standing, waiting for him. He loved the way he wanted to hold her of his own volition, without guilt and without obligation. It was entirely his choice and he reveled in it. He felt like he was making her happy and not just filling a hole in her heart, and she made him happy in return. He had never known anything like it.

He loved the way her laughs mixed with her quiet moans and gasps.

But she could be so impractical. He remembered the only time she had cried when they made love (because love it was, he had no doubt), the first time. She had been so upset that it couldn't have been him that she wailed before he even finished unbuttoning her shirt. She'd told him of some boy, she never knew his name, and a cold and emotionless encounter back in her yanki days. It was out of spite and boredom and some ridiculous rebellion and she regretted it with her entire being.

He hadn't been upset at all, because he knew whoever it was had no claim over his Arisa and he was relieved that he wouldn't have to hurt her. He'd meant to keep that particular sentiment to himself, but the look on her face was begging for his acceptance, so he'd smiled and told her in the best words he could find.

"I love you, and if you didn't love him, it doesn't matter to me at all."

Tohru-san was impractical in a very ditzy way, forgetting things and obsessing over minute details while overlooking the big picture, much like himself, while Arisa was impractical in other ways. She had so much pride and spunk that sometimes they would come into situations that they weren't necessary for, like the first time she'd been sick and had refused vehemently to have Hatori come see her. She'd hated the idea of a family doctor and had protested until her fever progressed to the point that she couldn't remain conscious. When she'd woken and found the Sohma family doctor there, she'd made his job quite difficult until he was practically wrestling her to take a temperature. She said she wasn't a Sohma and wouldn't pretend to be anywhere near their level. He had decided not to assume she meant that they were above her.

They had an unspoken agreement that they wouldn't get married for a good long while. It seemed against her grain; something she wasn't made for. Three years together, paying the bills together, cleaning the house together, doing everything together was just as good and he didn't want to press her. Sometimes it made him a little sad to know that, just like it had been with Akito, she didn't want to tie herself to him, but when he woke up in the morning to her disheveled hair and snoozing face and she never sent him away coldly or without explanation, he cheered up. He knew it wasn't to keep her options open with other men; it just wasn't like her to wear a white dress and put her name on a paper with his. He felt married enough in the way she brought him coffee when she really needed it herself and the way they sometimes argued over who needed the car more on any given day.

He plucked a grey sports-bra off of the tatami. Only Arisa would make such a mess in a hotel room, and a traditional inn at that. Underneath, something more provocative in nature lay in stark contrast to the practicality of the piece he held in his hand. He blushed and bent to pick it up.

He was in this position, slow to touch the garment on the floor when the faint scent of her shampoo and the heat of steam met his skin. He shivered.

He had been keeping track of time, and this was unusual. She had only been in the small bathroom for a few minutes, and it made him curious. He straightened and turned. A thin crack of the door was open, revealing nothing but a pearlescent glow of scented moisture.

"Hey- you comin' in?" Her voice was muffled from the cloud around her and was faceless. He couldn't see her at all, but the insinuation sent fire through his body.

That was his Arisa, so practical.

He slid off his socks, tossing them to the floor and undid the cuff buttons of his shirt. Walking towards the invitation he realized he couldn't be more content.


End file.
